


Idée Fixe

by veleda_k



Category: White Collar
Genre: Character Study, Community: fic_promptly, Conspiracy Theories, Friendship, Gen, Paranoia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-20
Updated: 2012-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-02 06:31:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veleda_k/pseuds/veleda_k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mozzie's not crazy. He doesn't have delusions, he doesn't see things that aren't there. No, Mozzie's problem is much worse: he sees what is there.</p><p>Written for fic_promptly on Dreamwidth. This takes place late season three, but the spoilers are really oblique.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Idée Fixe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yeomanrand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeomanrand/gifts).



People don't get Mozzie. That's okay. He likes it that way. If they don't get you, they can't label you. They can't box you in, make you a rubber mold person. Mozzie's a ghost, passing through the system. They can't catch you if they can't define you.

This week it's the moon landing.

It's not, of course. It's not about the moon landing or Roswell, whether they were real or fake. It's not about who's right, who's wrong, who's crazy. It's about the fact that _they_ (the government, the corporations, _them_ ) are lying to you. They don't want you in possession of all the facts, because then you'll be free. No one can own you if you know the truth.

He explains it to Neal one evening, somewhere between the debate over Pablo Neruda translations and the last glass of wine. He's explained it before, but this time is different, he's thinking in entirely new ways. Neal nods and smiles, never patronizing, never condescending, but Mozzie knows he doesn't get it. For all Neal's shining, spectacular brilliance, he's worryingly normal in some ways.

Mozzie's losing Neal. Losing him to his own dreams of government sponsored Elysium. Neal thinks he can believe their promises. He doesn't realize that the system is built to lie to you. For a con man, he can be disturbingly trusting. It's as if he believes that the world is, at heart, a safe place.

That's all right. Mozzie will look after him.

Next week, it's perfection.

A gallery about a mile from Mozzie's current favorite safe house is hosting a Cezanne exhibit next month. Apparently, their security measures are revolutionary. Mozzie starts to get the itch.

It's times like this he misses the old Neal most of all. Neal loves a challenge. Unforgable bonds, unbeatable security—the best way to get Neal to do something is to tell him it can't be done. Neal would love this. But if Mozzie asks, he knows Neal will turn him down.

Mozzie wants to blame any number of things: the anklet, the radius, the threat of prison. But Mozzie knows that Neal could overcome any of those things if he only put his mind to it. The real obstacle is much more insidious. "Peter would find out," Neal will say. ("Peter would be disappointed," he means.)

Still, there's no harm in talking about it. So, he invites himself over for a "hypothetical" discussion. (No way is he talking about this on the phone. He's started making a list of all the government entities that are more likely than not bugging Neal's phone. He's at two dozen so far, but he's only just begun.) He brings fancy takeout from one of his approved restaurants, and Neal supplies the wine. (Neal always supplies the wine. Mozzie would never admit it, but Neal's palate is ever so slightly more sensitive than his.) They spend the evening and way into the night planning their perfect heist.

It's a beautiful plan. Elegant, smooth, and no more complex than it needs to be . Pity Mozzie can't do anything with it. It's a two person plan. Yes, Mozzie could find a partner, but this plan requires grace, a light touch, and more than a dash of genius. In short, it needs Neal.

Neal laughs as they plot how to baffle the security guards, and Mozzie wants to shake him. Look at you now, he wants to say. Will you feel this light, this free tomorrow at your desk, in your office building, as someone orders you to jump so high? This is who you are, who _we_ are.

He doesn't say anything. Just like Mozzie, Neal gets ideas in his head sometimes, and talking it out won't solve anything, will only make Neal dig his heels in deeper. Mozzie gets that now. The only thing to do is to hope that Neal wakes up on his own. Mozzie doesn't know how long that will take, but he can be patient.

Sometimes, Mozzie thinks it's not safe to love Neal as much as he does. Neal is his brother, his protege, his best and truest friend. (He has other friends now, though. He thinks of Elizabeth. Other people pop unbidden into his thoughts. The Suit, the Lady Suit, Repo Woman. He puts them out of his mind.)

A psychologist would undoubtedly have an explanation, if Mozzie trusted them at all. (Brainwashed by the establishment, pathologizing those with free minds.) They might say that his deprived childhood has left him possessive, with a tendency to fixate. And, yes, perhaps a large part of him does want Neal all to himself. But that's for Neal's sake too. Things have always been best when it's just the two of them. Weren't they happy before Neal went to prison? Yes, there was Kate, but she left. She couldn't deal with who Neal was. Not like Mozzie can. (Kate visited Neal in prison. Mozzie didn't, not that first time. He doesn't like to think about that.)

Mozzie's not crazy. He doesn't have delusions, he doesn't see things that aren't there. No, Mozzie's problem is much worse: he sees what is there. From the strings controlling the system, to the relentless nature of reality. If anyone's delusional, it's Neal, who really, truly believes in happy endings and riding off into the sunset, no matter how often Mozzie tries to explain reality. Time and time again, Neal reaches towards the light, only to wind up confused and wounded after being burned yet again. Mozzie wishes more than anything he could make Neal stop reaching out, not because he has anything to gain from it, but because he wants Neal to stop getting hurt. But Neal refuses to learn, and so the only thing that Mozzie can do is to be there to pick up the pieces.

"You okay there, buddy?"

Mozzie blinks and focuses his vision to see Neal peering at him with a slight frown. He sighs. "If only the significant history of human thought were to be written, it would have to be the history of its successive regrets and its impotences.”

Neal smiles. "You've had too much, Moz. You only quote Camus when you're getting tipsy."

Mozzie rubs his eyes. "I should get going."

Neal gently tosses him a blanket. "What do I have a couch for? I'm turning in. I have an early morning tomorrow."

Mozzie could make a comment about government drones, but he doesn't. Instead, he takes the blanket and makes himself comfortable on the couch. If it will make Neal happy to play junior FBI agent a little while longer, Mozzie can oblige. He can entertain himself tomorrow. One of François Truffaut's early films is going to be playing at a hole-in-the-wall theatre that hardly two dozen people even know about. He'll invite Elizabeth, and they can have lunch afterward.

Lunch with Elizabeth tomorrow. Dinner with Neal today. Sometimes things are simple. Sometimes that's okay.

Mozzie's mind is quiet as he drifts off to sleep.


End file.
